Monologue From a Midgen
by Magic Gerbil
Summary: Eloise speaks. Her musings on her life, her infamous facial defects, and Hogwarts at night.


Monologue from a Midgen  
  
Obviously, it's an Eloise story. In my opinion, she's severely neglected considering that she was mention several times in the books. Besides, I have a soft spot for outcast characters. Here she is, in all her glory and my only fic centering on a canon character.  
  
Disclaimer: All of this belongs to J.K. Rowling, except perhaps Eloise's personality and experiences, which are pure conjecture on my part.  
  
  
I am Eloise Midgen. Yes, that's right. Crooked-Nose Girl. Acne Girl. And if you're not ready to see past that, what are you doing talking to me?  
  
First of all, let's get a few things straight. Yes, I have acne. You'd better laugh at me now, as I'm sure your picture-perfect skin has never had a spot of grease on it. So sue me if I don't spend hours in front of the mirror primping and using concealment charms. I have an excellent lawyer.  
  
Now we've gotten my skin out of the way. What shall I justify next? My eyes? My ears? No, there's nothing wrong with them, so they're ignored. How very lucky they are. It'd better be the nose then. Take a good look - yes, it's crooked. Come one, come all, to the Freak Show! See the Mermaid, the Giant, the Bearded Lady, and the Girl with the Crooked Nose!  
  
It's funny - nobody used to notice it. I can't even remember who spotted it first; maybe I just told the story of how it was hit by a Bludger. The rumour-grass was dry, though, and the fire spread. Eloise's nose is crooked! And now their eyes fly like snitches to the offending feature. Want to know the worst part? Mine do too.  
  
Good grief, where did that come from? I don't look at my nose at all. That, after all, would make me cross-eyed, and wouldn't that be a lovely addition to my collection of deformities? Besides, as I've said, I'm not the type to gaze like Narcissus at my reflection. I have better things to do.  
  
Like what? Helping with the Blast-Ended Skrewts would, in my opinion, be far more worthwhile. That's not what I do though. I'm an explorer. I'd be willing to bet that I know more about the castle than anyone, though I doubt I'll ever get any glory for it. That would involve telling someone of my disvoveries, and I would never do that. Then the castle wouldn't be mine anymore. Oh, Dumbledore runs the school, and a few of the snobbier kids act like they own it, but I understand it and that makes it mine.  
  
When the lights are put out and the halls grow quiet, I travel my domain. No, domain is the wrong word - it's too harsh, too domineering. My Mandate of Heaven is that of understanding, not conquest. Therefore, I must choose a new word - sanctuary. I wander my sanctuary, wrapped snugly in my mantle of darkness. Who needs an Invisibility Cloak when the night grants its own protection?  
  
In the sweet darkness, my nose and skin disappear, all of my physical self disappears and with it goes the bitterness, swept out by the blind air. Forgive my metaphors; it is late and the freedom of night makes me poetic. In the dead of night (the dead of night? No, the life of night, for that is the only time I really live) the stone walls of Hogwarts cease to trap me and protect me, hide me, instead.  
  
Once I take my rightful place, my nightful place, as Queen of Hogwarts, it doesn't matter that none of the teachers or other students give a Knut about me. They are gone, because Hogwarts doesn't give a Knut about them. There is only me and the castle, mine from the deepest dungeon to the highest tower, every picture and closet and window mine. And some nights, when the magic is strongest, I become part of the castle, transformed in wonderful oblivion.  
  
Nobody notices anymore what awkward architecture Hogwarts has, what a mishmash of styles and moods it is. I imagine it was thought hideous at the time of the founders. But it is so strong, so fascinating, and it bears itself with such grace, that nobody can help admiring it. Its inside has become a legend, and even its outer shell has been granted a sort of charm. And ever so slowly - for these things must be done slowly - these walls are teaching me their hallowed secret.  
  
They've whispered their siren promises to me as I meander, touching a cool stone here, tracing the molding around a window there. In return for my understanding, for taking the time to care (the walls whisper), there shall be a time when the name of Eloise Midgen no longer conjures images of greasy skin and crooked nose. There shall be a time when my appearance fades, becomes transparent, and the shining dreams within me glow and grow. There shall be a time when I no longer despise the dawn.  
  
Thank you. Oh, don't look so puzzled. I'm thanking you because you listened to me without judgment, because you looked at me and saw a person, not a target. How do I know? I can tell these things, and the magic of Hogwarts is inside me. I can see when a person's eyes gain that knowledge, the password to penetrate the walls of the physical. No wonder they call it insight - it's the gift of seeing within.  
  
You ought to try and get some sleep; it'll be morning in a few hours - the hourglass must have secretly widened. Brush your hand horizantally against the wall to open the secret door. Be careful; it moves quickly! No, I don't need sleep; I nap during the day. Maybe I'll see you again sometime. You'll see me, too, the real me, when the walls' promise is fulfilled.  
  
  
That was a strange, spur-of-the-moment thing... if you ask me, Eloise sounds like her sanity is slipping, but she's gotten no sleep for a while so I suppose it's understandable. I know I didn't address the time she cursed her nose off, but I just couldn't fit it anywhere. Besides, that might be a subject that she'd rather avoid even in her rather frank mood of this story. I think this was a one-shot thing, but who knows - if Eloise needs a voice again, I may just end up writing more. 


End file.
